Men, Women, an Occasional Animal, and the Common Cold
by iphianeira
Summary: A series of family drabbles for the All You Need Is Love Competition.
1. Ghosting

_Written for the All You Need is Love Competition and the Art Museum Challenge._

* * *

What a life it was, to have died but to still grow old and lonely.

The Baron had always been referred to as an old, lonely soul, so perhaps he was not the prime example of the matter; for one, Helena Ravenclaw was a beautiful instance of how terrible the existence of the ghost truly was.

It started with Rowena's death; the Baron had known her well, and he was far from pleased by her death, but when Helena had returned to Hogwarts, wanting then to apologize for her theft, and found her mother being carried away under a white sheet, she holed herself up inside a tiny broom closet for months. The sound of crying resonated still, hundreds of years later, near that small little closet.

For Helena and Rowena, closeness had been important; even when Helena felt Rowena wanted her to be something she could not be, she would always tell the Baron of her unconditional love for her mother. Back when Helena knew nothing of the Baron's lust for her, they would talk often, and he would rarely have a conversation with her in which she didn't mention her mother. Rowena, according to Helena, was strict, but she was wise and beautiful and respected and generous and fair and the most intelligent person Helena had ever met - which, from Helena, was most likely the greatest compliment that could ever be given.

The Baron had nobody to slip away from, but he watched her slip away from everyone; he could not bear that he had done this for her. He supposed it had all started with Rowena, though. Everything had begun when Helena's mother died, because Rowena was _important_.

Unlike the Baron.

What a life it was, to continue an old and lonely existence that could have been beautiful if she would only let go a thousand years.


	2. Another Daphne

_For the All You Need Is Love Competition; for the Build-A-Bear Challenge; for the Triwizard Tournament Competition; for the Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge._

* * *

Is it cliche to say that she hated her childhood? Astoria doesn't believe so; she certainly did despise the first seventeen years of her life. Surely her parents knew that educating an outcast to call others outcasts would not make a positive effect.

There was one good thing that Astoria knows she'll always remember - Daphne, her older sister and, in her mind, one of the most beautiful people she has ever met. Astoria's brother, Eliot, who is five years older than her, has never been supportive at all, but Daphne has always been fiercely protective of her sister, practically guarding her wheelchair whenever they went out in public, to Diagon Alley or to Knockturn.

It is certain that in the wizarding world, disabilities are frowned upon much more than they are in the Muggle; Astoria's devoted her life to researching that, and it's truer than anything. There are no ramps nor are there doors Astoria can move through. Hogwarts was even worse; there were countless levels of stairs and nothing to lift her up to the next level. It's lucky that eleven-year-old Astoria was stronger than the Astoria of the present, for if Astoria was to return to Hogwarts now, she would surely have to employ complex magic to get her up to the second level, even. Sure, Astoria could walk for short distances; she was fine around the house and could even go to smaller stores without feeling horrible pain. But she couldn't walk far, and often when she didn't have to _walk_ far she would be stopped by her ever-persistent anxiety. Because what better to be than physically ill _and_ mentally ill?

They wonder why she's an outcast, and she always responds with "_who wouldn't be_?"

It's a beautiful thing that Daphne exists, really. Daphne is the kindest person she has ever met - well, the only person she has ever met who has treated her kindly. Yes, her parents try to be the best parents possible (though they were really rather horrible when Astoria was small), and Eliot is _cordial_ at best (he generally has always expressed annoyance about having to care for Astoria in her condition). But Daphne is, in actuality, the only person who has ever been _kind_.

That is, until a Monday afternoon in Flourish and Blotts.

She has been enjoying herself so far. Since it's a Monday in the middle of February, the shop is nearly empty; upon entering, there was only one other person, an old gentleman in one of the armchairs that rest in the back of the room.

So it is completely unexpected that she suddenly can't breathe and feels like she's dying.

It's not an unfamiliar feeling; this is how she always feels when she has anxiety attacks, but there's nothing triggering here. Great. So now she has panic attacks, too.

She's clutching the arms of her wheelchair, her breathing fast and short, because _she can't control herself_, and she's trying to remember _breathe in five seconds, hold four, out eight_ but it's happening more like _breathe in .01, hold 0, out .001_, and everything is falling in on her at once and isn't she stupid and isn't she weak and isn't she such a fucking idiot and what's even the reason for her existence and she's crying now and she _never_ cries and why isn't Daphne here?! and -

"Do you need help?" asks a voice, and she looks up to see a vaguely familiar-looking young blonde with his hand reached out to her. She's surprised the glowing light of heaven's angels isn't streaming from behind him; it's the first time anyone other than Daphne has been kind to her.

"Astoria?!" he exclaims, surprise showing on his face.

"That's me," she says in between short breaths. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Draco," he says, not looking offended that she doesn't know his name. Good. "I'm Daphne's friend."

"Oh! I recognize you!"

Draco keeps talking to her, and she is shocked at how comfortable she is with him. Astoria is glad when he stays with her until she calms down.

"Would you like to go out for a bite to eat, Astoria?" he asks after she relaxes.

"I'd like that," she replies, grinning.

She has another Daphne.


	3. Letters to Teddy

_Written for the All You Need Is Love Competition; for the Disney Character Challenge; for the Triwizard Tournament Competition; for the Pick a Card, Any Card Challenge._

* * *

"Your dad was one of the most amazing people I knew," said Harry.

"Oh yeah?" retorted an angry Teddy one night at the dinner table. "Then why didn't you name your kid after him? Why's there only a James Sirius and not an Albus Remus? Why'd you name your son after a complete idiot, Harry, instead of this great bloke you keep talking about? Everything you're saying is complete rubbish and you need to stop denying it! Remus Lupin wasn't any good!"

* * *

Remus this, Remus that. His teachers all knew Remus; the young ones had had him as their teacher and the middle-aged ones had been at school with him and the old ones had taught him when _he_ was in Hogwarts. He was the greatest man in the world to them, kind, well-mannered, friendly, intelligent, encouraging, caring, generous, thoughtful. In contrast to that perfect man, there was Teddy, the young delinquent who actually _wasn't_ a delinquent but _one time_ he's caught snogging Victoire with his blue hair and suddenly he's out to destroy the world, apparently.

And what really was the cause of everybody's love for Remus Lupin? He hadn't been anything special. Sure, he'd fought in the war, but so had countless others. What was so great about him?

Nothing.

* * *

_In loving memory of_

_REMUS LUPIN_

_and_

_NYMPHADORA TONKS_

_Their battles were fought bravely_

_and none shall ever forget_

_their bountiful contribution to humankind._

* * *

They didn't really make a huge difference, though, Teddy thought every time he was dragged to the graveyard by his grandmother.

It was wrong, he knew, for him not to feel to upset about his parents' deaths. He did not think it _good_ that they had been killed, but he hadn't had a bad childhood; it wasn't as if his parents had been in his life for many years and memorable moments. Teddy had been less than a month old when Remus and Tonks had been killed. Was he _supposed_ to feel as if he had lived a horrible childhood? He certainly didn't.

* * *

_Dear Teddy,_

_I write this letter because I fear that I will not survive the war. I am going off to Hogwarts to fight mere minutes from now, but I want you to know that I love you. I know that you will not read nor comprehend this letter should I die tonight, even if Tonks was to read it to you. I know that you are very small and will not remember me should I die tonight. I know that you will never love me should I die tonight._

_Still, I must tell you that I do truly love you. I hope that, should I die tonight, you will learn that. I am so, so very sorry that I might not raise nor love you as you grow older. I do hope your mother gives you this letter should I die tonight, for I want you to know that the past weeks have been the best of my life, even with your endless screaming and crying for reasons even Tonks doesn't know._

_Should I die tonight, I love you._

_Hugs and kisses,_

_Dad_

* * *

_Dad,_

_I'm writing this even though I know you'll never read it, just to say I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry I have been so offended by any mention of you, I'm sorry you were killed, and I'm sorry that I'll never be able to love you._

_I don't really know what to say. I don't really know you at all._

_I wish I did, though._

_Sincerely,_

_Teddy_


	4. Three Sonnets

_Written for the All You Need Is Love Competition; for the Disney Character Challenge; for the Art Museum Challenge._

* * *

childhood

Will ever there be anything amiss  
Between this lovely pair of little girls?  
Shall ever Slytherin's cunning, quiet hiss  
Be cast aside for some odd Muggle world?

The two of them are gorgeous as they play,  
their chocolate curls askance in summer wind;  
such beauty cannot ever fade away,  
these children's concord surely shan't be thinned.

No, certainly they'll always two remain,  
and never sway nor ever break apart.  
For fairness thus can never truly wane,  
and friendship thus will never leave the heart.

But true, their tales might soon forever end,  
might crash and burn and not exist again.

adolescence

'Tis hard to grasp that they're no longer one  
nor often play in lovely grassy fields.  
The younger one has seen a different sun  
and the elder stayed with old ideals.

Perhaps as children had they distant grown,  
their hatred now would then have been foreseen;  
but somehow seeds of malice have been sown  
and somehow different paths the two have seen.

If this had been expected, then, perhaps,  
The family might have recognized the signs;  
They may have seen one filling in the gaps  
while one remained between the family's lines.

Suppose it was inevitable, then -  
Who should be blamed - the parents, friends, or them?

adulthood

So many decades now have passed, and yet  
Poor Andromeda's hate has grown tenfold;  
the older girl has yet to pay a debt -  
one that can never be repaid in gold.

For Andromeda had herself but two  
who helped her stay alive when she could not,  
but both of them had Bella executed  
and now to live had Andromeda naught.

Of Bellatrix one may have thought it wonted,  
but even after seeds of hate had grown,  
she still had thought she'd know her place as aunt  
and never harm the niece she'd never known.

And yet it was a fiction, was a lie,  
that haunted Andromeda for her life.


	5. Existing

Fred had forever been jealous of Roxy.

His sister was intelligent, gorgeous, and kind, though perhaps it was not those things he was jealous of. No, Fred thought himself rather gorgeous, for one, and he was friendly, he thought, though maybe he had inherited so much of his father's looks that he did not inherit his high intelligence and so much of his mother's skills as a Chaser that he didn't inherit _her_ high intelligence. His IQ was at least twenty points lower than everyone else in the family, all three of whom were basically geniuses.

But even that didn't bother Fred that much, because to be entirely honest - and he knew this was incredibly cliche - his family's love for him was much more important than intelligence.

The thing was, his family's love for him was essentially nonexistent. He was, to his parents, just a shell, a memory, a reminder of people that were dead and gone and passed. He hated that; he hated being a reminder. Roxy, who'd been named after Angelina's dead cousin, felt the same, but George still thought of her as a perfectly normal child.

In contrast, George's eyes dimmed every time he made eye contact with his son.

That was all Fred was to George: his brother. Fred was not himself. He was not the friendly bloke with a special talent in Arithmancy and a love for playing Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, whose brown hair was unmanageable but was still somehow admired by half the girls in his year; instead, he was a stockier, lighter-skinned man with an affinity for pranks and playing Beater in Quidditch.

Maybe it wasn't his family's love for Fred that was nonexistent. Maybe it was Fred that, to them, didn't exist.


	6. All Saints' Day

November 1, 1981. All Saints' Day.

What an appropriate day it is.

Yes, Petunia resents that this Dumbledore man has thrust the great responsibility of a child on her without even asking if she would be able to handle it; she resents that the kid was left on her doorstep where all kinds of accidents could have happened, and what would the neighbors have thought if they saw an abandoned baby on the doorstep?! And Dudley is screaming, and she has so much to do today that she hasn't even gotten Dudley out of his high chair yet despite the fact that he finished eating approximately forty-five minutes ago

That's what Petunia tells Vernon when he asks why she is so incredibly distressed. Don't get her wrong - all that is still distressing to her.

Other things are worse, though.

And when Vernon is safely at work, and she's left both Dudley and Harry in her son's playroom, she locks herself in her room and finally allows herself to cry, because she'll never see Lily again and God isn't she a horrible sister and when they were small they'd always tell each other silly things to do at each other's funerals but Petunia's certain she won't be invited to this one. She suddenly feels horrible guilt at her iciness towards her sister because of course, anyone would if she'd been absolutely horrid to her sister whose life ended before she reached true adulthood.

God. She strains to pull up any memories from her brief friendship with her younger sister: playing on the swingsets in the nearby park, picking flowers in the woods, purchasing stuffed animals from the nearby children's toy store. Petunia remembers that clearly. Lily would always want to buy cats, and Petunia would always reprimand her for never getting anything else. She once got a monkey, and Petunia had been so excited her sister hadn't gotten a cat stuffed animal that Lily had given it to her.

But then there were the bad things, the times Lily came running to her because their parents were angry at something she couldn't control and yet she couldn't help thinking freak, freak, freak, and when she grew apart from Petunia in favor of the more special, more magical Severus Snape.

God, why is this happening?

She's only twenty-three, Lily is - was only twenty-one, Lily was absolutely lovely, why is this happening, why, why, why is Petunia shaking with tears?

Because of Harry, Petunia realizes.

It's because of that wretched little boy. Lily only died, said Dumbledore's letter, because she was trying to protect Harry Potter.

She realizes it immediately: Harry Potter has ruined her life.

Harry Potter has killed Lily, and she will never forgive him.


	7. If You Were to Ask

4 December 1971

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would happily coo that he is absolutely the most perfect child she has ever seen.

Yes, perhaps he is less than a week old, but he is the most gorgeous week-old child in the world. It was certainly worth it, all the pain and strife of pregnancy, for this beautiful boy.

* * *

1 September 1982

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would hurriedly tell you that he's a wonderful child before rushing back to the rest of her children, the youngest of whom has just turned one.

She still loves him, though, as she tells him tearfully while the train begins to pull away from the station. Don't get her wrong. Bill is a wonderful child.

* * *

8 July 1988

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, her lips would form a wide smile as she told you without at all concealing her excitement that her son is Head Boy.

He may not have always been the most rule-following of her children (that would always be Percy, and she was sure that he, too, would be a Gryffindor Prefect and perhaps even Head Boy), but he was perhaps more kind than Percy, more well-rounded. She may have loved Bill more than any other child, because Bill was quite possibly perfect.

* * *

27 December 1988

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would tear up and immediately change the subject.

It's not as if he has done something wrong, nor as if something's happened to him. It was merely that she cannot stand the thought of her firstborn son being so far away from her. What if something happens?

* * *

24 June 1996

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would scoff a bit and tell you that he's going batty.

Yes, she thinks Fleur is friendly enough; but she can't be good enough for her Bill. People like tonks, who are pretty _and_ nice _and_ intelligent. Fleur doesn't have the last one; she's entirely vapid. Obviously, Bill is much too smart, much too nice, much too good for her.

* * *

3 July 1997

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would start to cry and say nothing to you.

He's been transferred to St. Mungo's after the Battle of the Astronomy Tower and is still not improving. Everyone's worried he's going to die. Molly stays with him all throughout the day; she doesn't want to leave his side.

* * *

2 May 2000

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would say that he should be the happiest man she knows.

She remembers the day she had him; she was exhausted and irritable and she was in oh so much pain but it was entirely worth it, she remembered. There was nothing she would have traded for her son.

So it is with that memory that she sees her first granddaughter for the very first time. She is beautiful, absolutely lovely, the most adorable thing she has seen since Ginny was born, and the little girl looks like her own son, though perhaps it was only her that saw it.

Victoire Cera is gorgeous, and she is Fleur's, and she is Bill's, and Molly is happy.

* * *

19 March 2076

If you were to ask her now what she thinks of Bill Weasley, she would say that he's one of the most perfect people she has ever met.

He's old now, and of course so is she. Both of them are in their hundreds already, but that hasn't broken the bond of love that a good mother has for her son and a good son for his mother.

So when the wizened old woman in the hospital bed grows silent, Bill isn't as sad as he had expected to be. He's happy, somehow.

If you were to ask him now what he thinks of Molly Weasley, he would say that she is - _not_ was - the most beautiful person he has ever met.


	8. Bring Your Child to Work Day

Today is Bring Your Child to Work Day, and Draco is utterly, completely, entirely lost.

Not that he's going to admit it, though, and certainly not to the red-haired boy who has caught him wandering around.

"The minister has told me to check in on everyone," Draco says haughtily. "Do _you_ know how to get the minister's office? I bet you don't."

"No," the redhead says.

"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't."

"Oh, okay," says the other boy, who looks about five - Draco's age. "I'm drawing a picture, wanna see?"

"Fine." Draco assesses the picture in front of the little boy, who is sitting at what is probably his father's desk. It's not a very good picture, really; the crayon drawing depicts something that Draco cannot discern. "What is that?"

"It's a blender!" explains the boy. "My daddy says the Muggles use them to cook things!"

"That's - "

His father's voice cuts him off before he can say "disgusting." "Draco! Let us go!" The young blonde nods, secretly grateful to his father for locating him.

"Draco, you must listen to me," his father says sternly as they walk away from the little boy in his father's office. "You cannot talk to people such as the boy you saw back there. They are in love with Muggles, Draco, and Muggles disgust us. The boy is a Weasley, and the Weasleys, I am sorry to say, are an unfortunate blot on the landscape of wizardry."

"Yes, Father," he says. He always listens to his father, for he knows he is wise. "Father, he was drawing a picture of a Muggle object. I told him it was disgusting." He always wants to please his father; Lucius has high expectations, and he rarely encourages Draco.

"You have done well, Draco," says his father, and Draco grins widely, "as have I. Today, we have made further steps towards power throughout magical Britain."

"Are we not already powerful, Father?"

"We are powerful in our own circles, Draco, but unfortunately others have not seen the might of the Malfoy family. They think our ideals wrong, but the money we have given to the Ministry will surely better the world's opinion of us."

"Yes, Father."

So says teacher to student; for that was what they were.


	9. Magical Mischief-Makers

"_George_."

"What?"

"Look at this!" Fred points to a file he's been looking through, because he's Fred and George is George and they decided they would look through Filch's stuff because how else would they find anything useful to them? George has been filtering through the papers on Filch's desk and Fred through the file cabinets, and all of a sudden Fred has apparently found something more interesting than the dull files George has so far shuffled through.

Fred holds up a mere piece of parchment.

"Are you _joking_, Fred? What, are you suggesting we do any _work_ with that?"

"Oh, certainly not, my dear George. Truly, I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Fred grins, and George's mouth opens wide in awe. Fred doesn't realize why at first, but after several long moments of George staring at the parchment in his hand, he looks over and sees it: ink is spreading throughout the surface of the parchment, spelling out carefully styled words: "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present the MARAUDER'S MAP."

"What's written in that?" asks George excitedly.

Fred opens up the map, revealing the footsteps of their friends and their enemies. "This is brilliant. Who did this? Who are these Marauder blokes?"

"They're brilliant. This is fantastic."

"Merlin, George."

"We're gonna be them, Fred."

"What? Nah. We'll never be this great."

"Sure we will. I'd rather like to surpass them, wouldn't you? We're gonna be even more brilliant than them!"

"Yeah," said Fred, his grin widening. "Yeah, you're right. We will be!"


End file.
